


The Kind of Human Wreckage That You Love

by abrandnewboom



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crash Landing, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrandnewboom/pseuds/abrandnewboom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plane Crash AU.<br/>it has to only be a very vivid dream with the woman next to him with a metal splinter in her chest and the blood smeared on his arm and her wide wide eyes and crabby claw-like fingers curled around his armrest and the female hostess clinging to the aisle seat ahead of him and the way she whimpered and stretched her hand out to him as the wind caught her up and carried her away, while he just couldn’t take her hand too fast too quick not real</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Almost gen My Chemical Romance plane crash AU set in the Bullets/Three Cheers era. I wrote this in 2006, and a little more in 2008. Warnings: Pre-slash, offensive language, vivid descriptions of gore and death, never finished.

Hitting San Francisco was one of those Big Time Things. You know, the type of huge adventure with sparkling lights, fast moving traffic and fast food that absolutely blew your mind as a kid. It’s the sort of Thing that’s a daunting journey for adults in need of jobs, apartments and rent. And to a band of guys from little ole’ New Jersey who are just hoping to have a hell of a lot of fun in the middle of the night, and maybe get some recording and a couple of gigs added to the impressive collection under their belts? You could say it was a dream come true.

Gerard hated traveling on airplanes. It wasn’t the fact that they were high up, and it wasn’t the dreadful airline food. It wasn’t the enclosed spaces, or the fact that he was in a small tin can with a few hundred other people who were more likely than not, extremely annoying at high altitudes. No, it wasn’t any of these.

The simple fact was that Gerard had always had three terrible fears. The first was death, the second, losing family – the thought of losing Mikey especially frightened him, and third and lastly, airplane crashes. The 9/11 panic had only escalated those fears.

The mere possibility that they couldn’t trust the flying contraption that they were strapped in not to blow itself up in midair, or get smashed into the ground, gave him the shivers. Every unneeded second they spent on an airborne plane merely added to the likelihood of their deaths. It would make a great song, actually. Only, if they got blown up by an airplane there wouldn’t be anyone left to write the lyrics.

Gerard stared harder into the night through the thick window glass. Just how thick was airplane glass, anyhow? He supposed thick enough not to shatter and suck him into the muffling clouds. He hadn’t paid much attention to physics class when he’d been in high school, and art school didn’t really cover that sort of knowledge base. He realized he looked more than a little strange, face against a window that had nothing but black bulbous clouds and the occasional pinprick of starlight visible through it. But the coolness of the outside air pervaded even this thick glass, and if Gerard squinted hard enough, he could imagine that he was at home in Newark, New Jersey, on the safe ground, looking up at a uselessly cloudy night sky.

Nobody else watched the sky when he did. He guessed they found the lack of stars or moon boring, but Gerard thought it was more than a little poetic, to lack shining beauty in favour of the ever moving thunderheads. Mikey understood his fascination, though he didn’t care to watch the sky himself, during the day or the night. Sometimes though, he come outside at three in the morning with a blanket, and they’d huddle together on the porch, Mikey sleepily cleaning his glasses and drifting off against Gerard’s shoulder, while Gerard continued to watch the sky, only now with a smile.

Gerard would give a lot just to be on their porch right now.

Mikey leaned against his brother’s shoulder and attempted to peek past Gerard’s head and through the window. It was a fruitless exercise, as the dyed hair that Gerard was so fond of had taken to clinging against any exposed areas of the window pane. The condensation was going to make his brother look a fright when they eventually touched down. Gerard would probably like that though, thought Mikey, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

Gerard’s oddness was a huge part of the band’s image. Although Mikey was a little uncomfortable with the thought of their stage personas taking over any possibilities of anyone seeing their real personalities, he was fond of Gerard’s emotionally charged, violently lively performances. The guy could really put on a show, and everyone loved him for it. Mikey felt a little lost on stage, himself, he couldn’t stomach the three-plus bottles of beer that Gerard could put away to stave off stage fright, but Gerard usually took a spare moment in between sets or verses to simply throw him a determined smile or a couple of encouraging words. Often Gerard would initiate some full on headbanging in Mikey’s stage section, and Ray and Frank would shift over, and they’d all let loose and throw their hair around.

Mikey didn’t really like to do it himself. He got headaches easily, and didn’t want to lose his glasses. Once he’d told Ray as much, post-show, snuggled up on a backstage couch, both of them drunk off their faces and too exhausted from the gig to move, and Ray had laughed and promised that if Mikey broke his glasses whilst headbanging, he’d personally buy him a new pair himself, in gratitude for the sheer entertainment factor. Mikey had pushed his glasses firmly up the bridge of his nose in the most sober gesture he could muster and had promptly fallen asleep, woozy from the alcohol, still annoyed at Ray. The next day, Ray didn’t remember anything at all about it, and Mikey had felt too embarrassed to remind him of his promise.

It’s not that Mikey doubted that Ray could afford to buy replacement glasses, or that he’d take back something that he’d promised Mikey, of all people. The band members had a pretty decent retirement stash by now, and not many people could bear to break promises to Mikey. He was just too nice for his own good. For anybody’s good.

No, Mikey just didn’t want to break his glasses at all. Or have Ray replacing them out of the good of his heart. That could get …uncomfortable. It would be like he was wearing…Ray’s glasses. If that made any sense.

Gerard and Mikey were shaken out of their thoughts by the intercom call for seatbelts to be put on. Apparently they would be hitting some turbulence on the way to their destination; San Francisco, city of broken dreams, bright lights and really loud music.

They’d already weathered a few stopovers and transfers. Mikey estimated that they were probably crossing above the Rocky Mountains by now, but he couldn’t be sure, seeing as Gerard was in the window seat. It was unlikely that he’d have been able to spot more than a couple of looming shadows, if anything. It was the dead of night, and darker than sin out there.

Frank was behind them, hunched over and asleep on Bob’s armrest. Bob slapped the back of the unconscious guitarist’s head. Frank jerked upright and slammed against the back of his seat. He yelped, and sat stock upright, head whipping left and right in confusion.

Ray started chuckling from across the aisle. Frankie had never been one to do anything quietly, or normally. Waking up was no exception to the rule. Frank was possibly the only person in the world who could match Gerard and their mutual friend, Bert McCracken of The Used, crazy deed for crazy deed. Sometimes Frank had moments where he actually usurped their thrones of wildness, but these were debatable in the eyes of the fans.

Frank roughly scrubbed sleep from his eyes and fiddled with his lip piercing in annoyance. It had been sticking a little lately, which wasn’t a good thing, especially when you were in the business of thrashing a guitar around a stage and screaming into a microphone every second night. Frankie considered his mouth a very important area. He grinned suddenly at his reflection in the darkened window beside him.

He’d had to fight Bob and Ray for the window seat. He’d won because he had the largest sheer capacity for causing a scene. He wouldn’t have shied away from his own personal airplane performance in exchange for the seat. However, the other two didn’t feel they needed to go to such lengths, and gave in. Gerard, sitting directly in front of Frankie, hadn’t had to fight for the window his face was pressed into. Gerard had offered Mikey the window seat, but Mikey had turned it down, know Gerard would only have stared out of it over his shoulder the whole flight. You could see next to nothing out of the window due to it being approximately two thirty in the morning, anyhow. Gerard, however, seemed to find the impenetrable darkness perfectly engaging. Frankie shrugged. He’d never claimed to understand Gerard. Artists were crazy, antisocial losers, he remembered someone telling him. Oddly enough, he thought it might have been Gerard.

Bob thrummed his palms against his armrest until Frankie twitched in annoyance. He loved winding up the guitarist. It was one of his favourite duties apart from turning up at gigs and playing live. My Chemical Romance had been the turning point of his life. He’d always wanted to perform live, ever since he was a kid. The guys may not have connected with him instantly, especially as he was replacing their long time friend, Matt. But they’d chosen him. Bob, of all people, and all he had to do was keep an eye on everyone’s backs and they’d be sure to do the same for him. Everything was working out just perfect.

Bob took a second to grin at Frankie and securely snapped his meal tray into its niche in the back of Mikey’s seat. Around the group other weary looking passengers were yawning and doing the same. A mother with a small horde of young boys was obviously counting them and working out a plan to retrieve their luggage and leave the plane when they arrived with the least amount of chaos possible. Bob smiled at her, but she didn’t see it, too busy latching her sons into their seats.

Mothers were underrated, Bob decided. Rock bands weren’t the right people to be idolizing; the ones who deserved it were these ordinary people who kept their children alive and happy, safe and growing. Bob missed his mom. He chuckled at the thought and resigned himself to calling her when they reached their San Fran’ hotel.

Ray was a little disappointed that he had to sit by himself on the end of the middle aisle next to a crotchety old woman who kept looking at his head as if she wanted to attack his hair with a pair of nail scissors. He was somewhat relieved by the fact that he knew the women couldn’t possibly have scissors on her. She’d gone through the same New York customs and security checks as the rest of them. Gerard had almost lost his bat belt, but managed to argue it through. He’d seen several other passengers losing scissors, fruit knives, cutlery they’d stolen from their hotels, just simple miscellanea. It had seemed a little silly to him, but he figured that precautions had to be taken.

He’d found it somewhat disconcerting that Frankie, Gerard and Mikey had been given particularly careful checks based on their appearance alone. Bob and he had gotten through like a breeze. Frankie seemed amused by the attention he was getting.

Gerard had been occupied with thoughts of his belt, and hadn’t managed to spot that Mikey was timidly handing over his backpack and emptying his pockets for a particularly bulky young security officer. The kid had looked barely out of school and buff as anything. Actually, he’d just looked like an asshole. The guy had grinned at the cute girls queuing behind the metal detector and given Mikey a little shove, just to show off his authority. Mikey had stumbled a little and dropped a guitar pick that he’d just fished out of his pocket. The security guard smirked a little and snatched it up before Mikey could reach down.

“You in a band, buddy?” he’d drawled, talking down to the poor kid.

Ray had tensed up a little. Hoped the loser would back off quickly

Mikey’s eyes had flicked up to meet the guard’s, and his nose had twitched unconsciously in discomfort. He’d nodded, almost imperceptibly. And the security guard had smirked again, eyes flicking back to the girls.

“I dunno about this pick…seems a little suspicious, if you know what I mean…”

Mikey’s eyes had widened. “What are you talking about? It’s just a frigging pick,” he had muttered uneasily. The guard was going to detain him just for the hell of it? Just to entertain some bimbos with his power?

Ray had taken his chance and strode forward to stand protectively in front of Mikey, his hair making him at least a couple of inches taller than the security guard.

“Is there a p-problem?” Ray asked, concentrating to keep his stutter to a minimum. The kid, cowed by Ray standing up to him, and the possibility of an equally tall adversary, had backed down quickly.

“No, we’re, uh, just fine. Here’s your pick.”

Ray had plucked it from his fingers and picked up Mikey’s bags. Gerard turned away from his own security debacle to their left. He’d won his argument, and looked pleased about it.

“OH MY GOD,” a squeal had echoed from behind them. “Is that GERARD WAY?!”

Ray had looked over his shoulder. One of the girls that the security guard had been trying so hard to impress was standing on her toes, straining to catch a glimpse of Gerard. Ray walked onwards indicating to Gerard not to stop. Gerard had looked a little shocked at the fact that Ray was willing to blow off some of their fans. He hadn’t known that these girls had just been laughing at the way the security guard had been taunting his brother. It was probably a good thing, as if he had known they would have been on the receiving end of one of Gerard’s rare apoplectic fits.

“Are you guys done yet?”

Ray had nodded an answer on behalf of both he and Mikey, and they’d walked through the departures lounge and straight up to their gate, where their plane awaited them.

“You okay?” Gerard looked at Mikey curiously.

Ray had watched Mikey swallow and get his nerve back. “Uh…yeah. Fine.”

When Gerard nodded his assent, Mikey had turned away to look at Ray, who was finding everyone’s passports and tickets in his bag. He was lucky to have people around that would stand up for him. Ray had always been like this. Even back in Newark, when they’d occasionally bump into each other at the shows, Ray would be the one to sweet talk the bouncers who thought Mikey was underage, and ask him once an hour if he was still sober enough to walk. Mikey, he had thought to himself, you are one lucky guy to have such great friends.

\---

  


Mikey stretched his back against the line of his seat, wriggling uncomfortable shoulders and hoping that they’d be out of the turbulence area quickly. He wanted to stand up, for just a minute, and he hated turbulence. No matter how many flights he was on, no matter what intensity of shaking the air currents subjected them to, it still unnerved him, especially when he heard the luggage in the overhead compartments thumping around. That was the reason he never stashed his CDs or iPod in his backpack. He always kept his iPod down his shirt and in his pants pocket and his CDs wrapped in clothes in his checked baggage.

Mikey, glanced up at the lit up sign attached to the wall a few rows ahead. The Fasten Seatbelts light was still glowing, but they hadn’t hit any noticeable turbulence yet. Mikey rotated an ankle, itching to just stand up for a second. He shifted uncomfortably and accidentally knocked a magazine out of the chair pocket in front of him. He strained against his seatbelt to pick it up, only to find that it was the typical ‘In Case of Emergency’ pamphlet, with its corny illustrations of how to fasten your seatbelt securely, and correctly put your oxygen mask on in case of extreme freak out. Mikey crinkled his nose and dropped it on the floor.

He was about to finally give in to his urges and unfasten his seatbelt, just to get the cramp out of his legs, when Gerard pushed himself away from the window with a loud gasp of air. At the same time Frankie gave the back of Gerard’s seat a hard kick. Mikey turned and stared at them. Their eyes were wide and frightened. Gerard looked paler than usual and Frankie’s skin had taken on a waxy tone.

“Did you…Gerard..?” Frankie managed to whisper, ignoring Mikey’s gaze.

Mikey noticed that his lips were swelling a little, and his lip ring wasn’t sitting loosely as it usually did. Yuck, infected again? Poor Frank.

Gerard’s eyes flashed and he swore under his breath, and pushed a hank of jet black hair, suddenly soaked with sweat, away from sticking to the side of his neck. “Fuck, yes.”

“What is it?” murmured Bob, a little concerned at the normally mellow vocalist’s condition. Ray craned his neck from across the aisle in an attempt to see what was going on.

The old woman beside him hmphed at all the fuss being made of some hideously garish young man, and pressed the assistance button on her armrest, intending to request a change of seat for the remainder of the flight to San Francisco. These ridiculous young men reminded her of her grandson. He’d had taken to growing out his hair and putting makeup on before he left the house. She rather hoped he’d be out of the city with his idiot friends by the time she arrived at his parent’s home for her stay.

Ray had no idea about this woman’s intentions, and if he had known he probably would have been relieved at the thought of getting a friendlier neighbour. However, he was still listening, ears pricked up for what Gerard was saying.

Gerard’s hand slipped from his own lap and clutched at Mikey’s hand, interlacing their fingers, and pulling him close to Gerard’s warm side. Was…was Gerard shaking?

“Mega-big-fucking-bad-vibe,” was all that Gerard could say, words scarcely reaching Ray’s ears and only giving Frankie enough time to nod his agreement vehemently before all hell broke loose.

\---

  
Gerard’s eyes widened in fear and surprise at the first buffet, but the second threw him sideways against the window, cracking his head against the thick pane of glass and instantly knocking him out.

The airplane seemed to buck every which-way and the passengers began to scream as the walls, seven or eight rows behind Bob and Frank, seemed to buckle inwards and tear apart as if a huge can opener were turning its sharp edge along the seams of the cabin. Bob felt the plane decline in angle; he looked around wildly as if there was something he could do about it. He saw a small child, squalling in fright at the screeching of metal and the violent movement and the sudden blasts of near freezing air - he saw him sucked like a feather through the gaping seam in the cabin walls. That was all he saw before he succumbed to the lack of oxygen intake that his subconscious hyperventilating had caused.

Frank gripped his armrests so tightly that the plastic edges cut into his flesh. He couldn’t quite understand exactly what was going on, only that he’d felt it coming, just as Gerard had, and that it definitely was not a good thing. Frank stared straight ahead, aware that Bob had passed out, and Gerard wasn’t conscious either, judging from the way he limply rested against the corner of his seat, hair rippling in the vacuum like a black river of greasy ribbons. Ray, he could hear, screaming incoherently, and stuttering nonsense words. He shut his eyes, and tried to block out the sounds, only to be struck by the violent shuddering and screeching of a thousand hell demons attacking the underside of the hull.

The wall on the other side of the cabin fragmented, and the luggage compartments on that side ejected their contents onto the scanty amount of people that still remained in the plane. A sports team had taken up most of that row. Frank supposed that they hadn’t had their seatbelts on. Something bright and tubular flitted past him, skimming his face, and he felt a quick tug and the odd sensation of a loss of weight to his mouth. Warmth poured over his chin and Frankie had finally had enough of the sights and the sounds. He shut his eyes, and they stayed that way, his thoughts drifting nervously in a self induced unconscious daze.

Ray knew exactly what was going on, and he did not want to deal with it. This was one of those things that never ever happened to you and the people you love because it couldn’t and shouldn’t and wouldn’t and it’s not happening now, and it has to only be a very vivid dream with the woman next to him with a metal splinter in her chest and the blood smeared on his arm and her wide wide eyes and crabby claw-like fingers curled around his armrest and the female hostess clinging to the aisle seat ahead of him and the way she whimpered and stretched her hand out to him as the wind caught her up and carried her away, while he just couldn’t take her hand too fast too quick not real.

And when he looked at Mikey, he could see how frightened the kid was, clinging to Gerard, unconscious on the window not looking out for his own flesh and blood, sleeping on the job, and Ray knew he’d have to keep an eye on Mikey because he’d promised him something a long time ago but he couldn’t remember what but that wasn’t important and he knew he was thinking in strange wrong ways for the situation but what else could he do?

Mikey and Gerard and Frankie and Bob and were they dreaming too? Is it all real oh shit no it can’t be real but he knew it was and the wind cut at his eyes and it was too real and then he knew somehow in his gut that there’d be a big bang at the end of this hell ride and he’d have to pick up Mikey and get him out and then work on figuring out what he promised him and how stupid it was but a saved life was a saved life right?

Breathe thin rushing air.

And Ray clutched his armrests, pretending the dead woman was alive and he was comforting her, it’s all over soon, and no she wasn’t cooling and there was no blood on his arm but he’d have to get up at the end and his head would swim from sitting from so long but then he’d look at Mikey and pull a dazed dizzy rush of blood to the head face and they’d laugh and then he’d drag the kid out of the plane and and and go somewhere safe and soon they’d be back on the road and Gerard would make excuses to the San Fran executives and he’d rub his head apologetically and sling an arm around Frankie and Mikey, not necessarily in that order but they’d go out to eat and chicken was good and so was steak but if they decided to get together with The Used Quinn was a vegetarian right?

But they’d figure it out and he’d sit next to Mikey at the table and Mikey would curl into Gerard’s shoulder on his other side, and Ray would tease them and Mikey would grin a little and Gerard would say something typically big brother-like, but he’d smile at Ray because Gerard knew that he could trust Ray to look after Mikey, right? Yes that’s right and---

And the undercarriage dug into the ground viciously, tearing up the skin of the forest floor. All the inhabitants jarred violently, some limp bodies flopping in the air to rest in awkward, almost posed positions, others getting the final jerk of their lives, and all was silent and dark, and there were only the too loud sounds of five breathing in the deadened air of the cabin. The walls sported a proud collection of gashes, and leaves and stars seeped through the open wounds, cabin clinging to the sounds of cricket song and peace.

\---

  
Mikey breathed.

He then looked at Gerard fuzzily. His brother’s eyes were closed, and his hair so wind whipped that it had settled in birds-nest knots. He shook his brother’s shoulder. Hopefully he was just unconscious, with nothing more serious than a concussion and some nasty bruises.

Gerard didn’t blink blearily and lean up on his elbow like he usually did after long haul flights. Mikey’s heart leapt into his throat and he unbuckled his seatbelt with shaking fingers, the simple clip that he’d so stupidly thought about undoing before all this started. It had saved his life.

Mikey pulled his knees, so weak from sitting too long - or maybe fear – onto his seat and he kneeled over Gerard’s limp form, pressing his ear to his brother’s mouth. He was relieved to find there was still air rushing from Gerard’s lungs. Gerard wasn’t dead. He was still here. Mikey lifted an arm, ignoring the blooming bruises around his forearm, from collisions with the armrest, and tried to wipe away the tears that were glazing his vision badly.

It was only then that he realized that his glasses were missing. It was a stupid moment of realization, and he was almost angry that he hadn’t noticed already. He was almost blind without his glasses. They were an extremely strong prescription. No wonder everything was wildly hazy. He’d thought the tears had distorted his vision, but he wasn’t even crying. His glasses must have been pulled from his face during the turbulence, or by the wind. Some time when the outside movements had been so blindingly intense as to distract him completely. He hadn’t even noticed the glasses being whipped from before his very eyes. He was so fucked.

He blinked, this time brushing away real tears, born of frustration and despair. Mikey sniffed, squared his shoulders, and undid Gerard’s seatbelt, slipping his arms around his brother and tugging halfheartedly in an attempt to get Gerard out of the seat, and then eventually, he guessed, the plane itself. Gerard was heavier than Mikey was strong, so this was an endeavor almost certainly doomed to fail. Mikey knew that already, but he supposed that it was the thought that counted.

Frankie stirred into life again, licking his lips and wincing at the pain. He touched a finger to his lip, and pulled away quickly. His lip ring was gone and the torn flesh was trickling blood at a slow but somewhat steady rate. Can’t have been long since he’d lost it, but his sleepy head made him feel as if he’d been asleep for a while, as if he’d felt the lip ring tearing away hours ago – but it can’t have been that long after all.

Frank bit down on the skin around the wound lightly, hoping that cutting off the circulation a little would slow the bleeding. He’d always been a bit of a masochist, asking the odd kid to punch him at shows now and then, but he liked his piercings. It sucked that he’d have to wait for this one to heal up and then have it repierced. He remembered when he’d first got it, and how annoying it had been to look afterwards.

Looking around and shaking the drowsiness out of his head, he almost laughed at his thoughts. Here he was, strapped into a crashed plane, annoyed at the thought of looking after some new holes in his face, despite the fact that he didn’t know if his friends were alive, let alone whether they’d even get out of here in one piece. Frankie rolled the kinks out of his neck and tried to stand up without undoing his seatbelt. Stupid thing to do. Whiplash had bruised his waist considerably and it was only the slight tug of the belt that brought it to his attention with the force of a dozen blows. Frankie hissed and released the catch on his belt with tentative movements, vowing never to complain about his guitar burn again.

Finally free of the seat, Frankie got to his feet, leaning heavily on the head rest in front of him. Peering over the top he could see that Mikey seemed okay, trying to tug a seemingly unconscious Gerard from his seat. Frankie looked down, to the right at Bob, who was breathing slowly and calmly, eyelids lowered. If they weren’t in the current situation, Frankie could have sworn that Bob was sleeping peacefully in his chair, a little woozy from his in-flight cocktails. But this wasn’t any ordinary flight. Frankie could only surmise that Bob was unconscious, but definitely not dead.

He glanced at Ray, across the aisle. That fuzzy hair of his was matted now, not bouncing giddily in time to the rhythm of life, as the guys liked to describe him. But he was definitely alive, with eyes wide, and short shallow bursts of breath erupting from his mouth. Frankie suppressed the urge to clamber over Bob and give Ray a good shaking. Ray was a level headed guy, and he’d come to his senses in no time. Frankie had to concentrate on nudging Bob and hefting his limp unconscious form to the floor of the aircraft. A good bump should wake him up.

Bob tumbled, limbs flailing, onto the plush carpet. He opened his eyes and looked around, immediately wishing he hadn’t. His eyes were automatically drawn towards the brightest colour in the vicinity. It was a ridiculously clichéd red.

That woman a few seats back must have thrown herself over her children in their last moments in the air. Her neck was bent, and the clip of her seatbelt, undone - to save the children - looked to have struck her a harsh blow before she went to the other side. Bob hoped perhaps, that her children had still been living, bleeding entities when she died. That way she wouldn’t have failed on the job. But now they were all dead, no doubt about it, no way around it, and the curls of collapsed metal, the remnants of the side of the cabin’s walls, clutched possessively, talon like, around the hearts of the young boys.

They bled little, with no hearts pumping their blood, but Bob knew the lyrics to Bury Me In Black, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to stand to hear Gerard sing it again.

Had Gerard seen this spectacle before? Did his lyrics hold that level of truth to them? Had Gerard stared in awe and disgust and fear at the torn open chests of young boys?

Bob felt ill, but Frankie was kicking at his sides.

“Get up Bob.”

It took a lot to tear his eyes away from the purple and pink, but he did, with a shudder and a gagging sob. Bob got to his feet, and he leant on Frankie’s shoulder, swaying them both, and they silently trekked up the aisle to the nearest plane exit. They paused in the doorway for Frankie to look over his shoulder and tell the others, firmly, that he’d be back in a moment to help carry Gerard. Bob let his eyes slide shut and in the half-light of the moon, Frankie managed to find him his very own stable tree to sit and breathe against. It was still alive, which was a plus. Frankie laid a kind hand on his shoulder.

“Bob?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” was all that Bob could answer.

Frankie nodded and rubbed his temples. It seemed like ‘Yeah’ was enough. What else could you say?

Frankie was a little awed at his own calmness. He’d never really thought of himself as a leadership type of guy. He was more prone to go with the flow or beat his own path, come what may. It was just so strange that after such a shake up, his thoughts, his plans, his logic, were all crystal clear. He’d rationalized, as soon as he’d come to that the plane had broken up in mid air – a fairly easy conclusion to come to, seeing as they had been seated near the front of the plane, and approximately ten rows behind them there had appeared a gaping hole, and then nothing but jagged metal teeth and tendrils of wiring.

He’d also figured that they weren’t in immediate danger from anything but themselves and their own fear, seeing as the engines were no longer part of their plane portion. It wasn’t as if they were going to dramatically explode if they weren’t there. Frankie unconsciously wiped a film of cold sweat from his forehead. So maybe he was absolutely terrified. But he wasn’t going to give in to it. Frankie gave Bob’s shoulder a quick squeeze and began to pick his way over furrowed forest floor, back to the darkened airplane door.

\---

  
Ray finally made the move to blink his eyes. They were becoming itchy with the sweat that ran over them. As if breaking from a trance or spell, his gasping slowed to an almost regular breathing rate and he became more aware of his surroundings. His heart though, it felt like a bird, hopping, hopping. His hands were still shaking. They wouldn’t stop. He wiped the blood off his arm, and pushed the dead old woman’s hands away from his armrest, breath hitching up a notch at her dead touch. He unbuckled his seatbelt, scrambling to get out of the seat, away from the dead - and finally stood, knowing only that he had to make sure Mikey was okay, or Gerard would kill him. He turned to Mikey; eyes softening a little in relief when he saw the kid was still breathing.

Ray walked across the aisle finally, still shaky on his legs. He’d never liked the sensation of walking on a moving vehicle, even when it wasn’t moving. Boats, buses, trains, planes, it was all the same. Automatic unsteady legs, without the motion needed. Ray touched Mikey’s back gently, and pushed him aside to grab hold of Gerard’s torso. He had to bend his knees to get enough leverage to get Gerard over his shoulder – the vocalist might have been getting thinner lately, but he wasn’t anything like the mere wisp that Mikey was – he was heavy! Ray groaned a little at the weight, but managed to maneuver out of the aisle, and propel himself towards the door that Frankie and Bob had gone through recently.

“W-wait!”

Ray turned, thrown a little by Mikey’s voice. The stutter sounded all too familiar. Just like his own - frightened, intimidated, and trying not to show it.

He looked back at Mikey, hitching Gerard further over his shoulder, bowing down with the weight.

“I-I can’t see, Ray. I lost my glasses. I think they’re broken somewhere, or…I don’t…um…C-c-could you lead me out?”

And Ray only then saw that he’d been gazing into bare, blurred eyes that didn’t focus on his face, couldn’t focus on his face – couldn’t really see him, even!

And he hadn’t noticed that the only person he’d ever had entrusted to him needed his help so desperately, and he didn’t see it, he’d just picked up his vocalist and practically walked out the door, could the day or night it is night, right? It’s dark—could it get any worse than this? And how stupid stupid stupid, but he couldn’t panic, oh no, so he grabbed Mikey’s hand and he was gripping too tight, and he knew it but they had to get out of here for Mikey’s sake, why was he being so panicked today is it your head, Ray, did you hit it or maybe it’s that midlife crisis your parents always joked about at their grown up parties but how old are you, Ray? Twenty-seven, nowhere near old enough…Stress. Stop making excuses.

And Ray just couldn’t help but run, holding tight to Mikey and to Gerard, passing Frankie, who leapt out of the way and yelped, “Wait, Ray! Mikey! Where-?”

But they were gone, Mikey dragged along like a reluctant rag doll, trying to keep up, he couldn’t see the ground, legs skittling around.

And Ray kept running, figuring, hey! We’ll stop sometime, we’re just running about like idiots in the suburban woods again on Halloween, covered in stupid fake blood concoctions of Gerard’s, only we’re not and it’s just too real, but the running will stop, just not yet, not until we reach the end, wherever that is, and in the middle of the when will we stop, why are we running’s, Mikey’s hand slipped out of Ray’s grip, once again.

But Ray didn’t quite notice.

“Shit,” gasped Frankie, staring after Ray’s retreating back and the dragged form of Mikey. They were moving so fast - Ray must be in a real panic, or something was really wrong.

He tiptoed back to the airplane door, peered around the dim insides. It smelt like a hospital. The scent of still-fresh blood in clinical surroundings. He’d never thought of what a hospital really smelt like, but now he knew. It smelt like death and the drawn out strangulation of time. There was nothing overly threatening in the cabin, so he left, unconsciously closing their escape door behind him, as if going through the motions of closure. He hadn’t known these people, even if he’d breathed their air, and he couldn’t afford to feel such sentiments now.

Survival was on Frankie’s mind, like a newborn predator.

Bob buried his head in his hands. This had all gone to hell. What had he done wrong? Just – it seemed seconds ago, he’d been so content. He’d planned on calling his mom. He’d looked on people with fondness for the human race. Was he too smug? Was it time for a shake up? Why did this shit happen to him? For the first time in a long time, Bob wished he was back with The Used, carrying their shit and pressing all the safe technical buttons behind the scenes, where band members didn’t have whacked out psychic revelations before fucking planes tore themselves apart. Bob had always thought he was a sensible guy, but this was just the last straw.

Bob heard Frank stride over, crackling twigs and coming to a stop in front of him. He didn’t look up, unwilling to let Frankie see him crack, hoping that if he pressed his eyes firmly enough, the colours would whirl and the scene would fade out to be replaced with yet another water-stained hotel room ceiling, anywhere but here. But it wasn’t to be like that. He pressed his thumbs deeper, only making his eyes stream, and Frankie let out a heavy sigh, crouching down before him.

“Hey. I know you really don’t want to face the situation, but we have to go out there and get the guys back. I don’t know if Ray’s gone whacko or what, but Gerard’s unconscious, and Mikey didn’t look like he was in the best shape. We’re going to have to be the bigger men here.”

He pulled Bob’s hands away from his face and gave him a smile full of bravado. It choked Bob up, and he could only nod a reply and take Frank’s proffered hand, dragging himself up, and they set out together in search of the guys.

Frankie found it surprisingly easy to take on the leadership role, leading Bob over logs and around muddy patches, sharp eyes catching the broken tree limbs that gave away the path of Ray’s desperate flight. They found some of Gerard’s hair, entwined in a clump of prickly bush. The fact that it was sticky with red seemed to freak Bob out, so Frankie sped up their chase as the woods grew denser and darker, the air heavy and humid, and the bugs became louder and swarmed in small battalions.

They had to stop when they couldn’t see visible evidence of the others and even their now well adjusted night vision began to fail them. They found themselves a dead clump of bracken and sat heavily in it, as if it were some dreadfully uncomfortable backstage sofa.

“We’ll keep looking when it gets light, okay?” Frank reassured Bob, who had shut his eyes already, but wasn’t sleeping.

Bob nodded almost imperceptibly. “Or maybe the guys that are searching for us will bring flashlights and a megaphone?”

“Yeah…” Frank felt a little uncomfortable agreeing with such optimistic statements. It was unlikely that the airports were even missing their flight yet. They’d just assume they were running late or something. Tomorrow they’d probably start looking. But there was an awfully large area of land that they’d have to cover.

He hoped they’d at least manage to find Mikey in the morning. The kid was undersized as it was and not the most ideal candidate for abandonment in the wilderness. Frank was more worried for him than for Gerard; even if Gerard had been unconscious last he’d seen him.

Gerard at least probably wouldn’t be so squeamish about killing wild animals in self defense or for food.

 

Mikey hated dead things, thought they were gross, refused to touch them. A complete contrast to Gerard, who’d gladly pose for photographs covered in pigs’ blood, and often mercilessly hurled road-kill at roadies when they stopped on the open road to change a tire or secure the trailers.

Back in the day, Gerard used to crash funerals to corpse-kiss - a game just as bad as it sounded – and feast on the free food at wakes whenever he was low on money. He’d stuff ham rolls and slices of pork into his pockets and bring them back home to Mikey, who had had no clue as to where Gerard was getting their dinners until the night he caught Gerard dusting off the potato wedges that he’d accidentally dropped all over their doorstep.

He’d been pretty mad then, refused to turn up for rehearsal for two weeks straight and even when Ray lured him back with a packet of new top quality bass strings, he’d refused to talk to Gerard, relying on Frank to pass indecipherable post-it notes to the vocalist.

Apparently Gerard could read the scrawl though, and he’d scowled whenever he saw Mikey scribbling away, using the back of his bass to lean the papers against. Two days later they’d taken a flying leap at one another, Gerard squeezing the life out of poor Mikey, and everything was fine again. Ray, Frank and their drummer of the moment, Matt, had just grinned at each other in disbelief, glad to have the brothers back in action.

It was comforting to think of happy endings while they were stuck in the dark like this, and Frank could only hope that Bob was keeping his spirits up in a similar fashion. It wouldn’t do at all to have someone else crack less than a few hours into this catastrophe. Frank wasn’t about to put up with losing any more of his friends now that he had the situation somewhat in hand.  


\---

  
Ray had run for so long, so long. He was tired now, and Gerard was heavy on his shoulder, greasy long hair whipping in his face, blinding him and bringing tears to his eyes. The trees had gotten taller and their branches sharper, denser, hard to break through. His own hair began to catch in the twigs that dangled teasingly around his head, but he tore the copper curls out, only wincing a little, since this was a mission. He had to get Mikey out of here.

Stopped short.

“Mikey?”

Gerard muttered a little, groaned and tried to roll his neck on Ray’s shoulder. Ray released his grip, letting Gerard flop onto the undergrowth like a sack of potatoes. He covered his mouth, trying to keep in a cry of horror that was too deep, too huge to escape his throat.

 

“Oh, god.” he whispered, feeling his stomach drop and his heartbeat slow in its pumping of chilly blood. He’d really lost it now. He’d really fucked up now. Gerard was going to kill him. And Mikey Where was Mikey? No glasses, practically blind, and the shadows creeping in – it was the middle of the night.

Gerard shuddered a little on the ground near Ray’s feet, finally managing to raise his head, and then sit up. He touched two fingers to his stained scalp and winced.

“Where’s Mikey?”

\---

  
It was a murky world that Mikey had been left in. His ankle had caught on a root as Ray dragged him through the scratchy underbrush. He didn’t think he’d been made to run all that far, but he’d kept his eyes shut to protect them the whole time, and his ankle – it really hurt. He didn’t think it was broken because he could stand up, but it stung terribly and exhibited a tendency to fold sideways. It might be sprained, he decided with a strangely clear head. He ought to stay where he was and conserve energy and heat, his brain reasoned.

But…Gerard was out there, unconscious, with Ray. Mikey didn’t know what to think of his old friend. He was certain that Ray hadn’t meant to panic or to let go of him, was just trying to help, to get them out of this mess. Of course it had all gone to hell, following the Law of Murphy to the furthest extent possible, but Mikey didn’t dare think it in any firmer a tone, didn’t want to tempt fate.

He’d already survived the crash, ended up blind without his glasses, been abandoned in the middle of the woods, and sprained his ankle. The only people he cared about in the world were out there in who-knows-what condition, and it was nightfall. It really couldn’t get much worse. Hopefully the old proverb about how when you hit the bottom, there’s nowhere to go but up, held a little truth in it.

The only trouble was…well, what could he do? He didn’t want to die out here.

Mikey sat up and gathered his wits. Squinting into the darkness didn’t improve his vision much at all, but if he moved slowly and paid attention he could see, and almost hear the trees and shrubs loom as he moved closer to them.

He started off crawling, moving slowly at first to save his hands. Though his fingers had hardened long ago from the guitar and bass, his palms were soft, and collected thorns, sharp barbed twigs and the sticky wet of mud and decomposing matter of the forest itself. He wasn’t sure of which way to go at first, but he assumed that his back had been to the wreck when Ray had let go of him.

At first he’d felt the urge to follow Ray, if only to show him the pain and fear he’d caused, and to get Gerard. He missed Gerard so much in the foggy dark that he began to think he heard his familiar footfall whenever he brushed against a tree. It was only wishful thinking, of course. Mikey crushed his heart beneath a sodden knee and turned tail, heading in the direction of the plane, and hopefully Frankie, Bob, and a rescue team.

\---

  
Gerard looked at Ray incredulously, disappointed, amazed, and indescribably fucking angry at his most fucking trusted friend in the whole fucking world.

Gerard couldn’t quite put it all together – or maybe he just didn’t want to.

Ray. Had lost Mikey. In the middle of the fucking woods. After a plane crash.

“And, he did-did-didn’t have hi-his glla-glasses, either.” Ray choked out with a violent sob.

Ray had broken down, stepped back into his old habit of stuttering at confrontation.

Gerard staggered upright, one hand pressed to the side of his head, stemming a slowing stream of blood. He moved before Ray could anticipate and slammed his free fist into his jaw.

“You fucker,” was all he said, before turning tail and stumbling into unfamiliar brush, trusting that the trail of broken branches and trampled greenery led back to Mikey, alone and blind somewhere out there. He ignored the darkness, trusting his sharp vision and determination to get him back. He didn’t really care that Ray was still standing stationary in that clearing where he’d hit him in retribution, sobbing his eyes out over what he’d done.

Right now, Ray could go and fuck himself for all he cared.

Gerard strode through the trees for what seemed like miles, ears alert for any sound, anything at all. His determination to find Mikey no matter what – it was a given, he’d do it because it was his duty, and he could only trust himself to do the job – overrode any fear of his surroundings.

The forest moved around him, and the thought of animals being out there, or something else lurking behind trees, twisting and following in dreadful scything formation was a concern almost pushed out of his mind. Anger was a dependably defensive state of mind.

He agonized over the fact that Mikey mightn’t have the same saving grace. He’d be alone and bewildered, fucking blind. He would never see the danger coming for him.

Gerard quickened his pace, vaguely aware of a set of crashing footfalls followed his trail from a distance. If Ray managed to catch up with him, and if Mikey wasn’t hurt, maybe he wouldn’t kill him.

Mikey used to be afraid of the dark, just as everyone was when they were a kid, It was a reasonable phase to go through. It was perfectly understandable for a child to mistake the fear of what could be in the dark with the dark itself. The thing was, Mikey had recognized the fear for what it was, and he’d been terrified of what was in the dark – the thought of the creatures that could be muffling low chuckles with spiny boned fingers and waiting to prey on him at their leisure.

Their parents had laughed, not cruelly, but assuming that Mikey was just like any other kid out there, just like Gerard; that he’d get over that irrational fear of darkness after a year or so, just like everyone else. They had underestimated his intelligence, and Gerard had seen that, and thought it mightily unfair even at his own childish age of nine and three quarters.

He’d had his own room upstairs, across from Mikey’s, and down the hall from their parents. (He hadn’t moved into the basement studio until he was sixteen.)

He’d been proud of his room. It had some of his best art hung up on the walls, and a lot of posters that he’d begged from the video store and the comic book store. It had looked very grown up.

But he’d been more than prepared to give it up whenever he heard Mikey’s snuffles and hiccups. Every time - even when he’d only just had a vicious fight with his little brother – every time he heard him at night, he’d worried, and then resigned himself to getting out of bed, tiptoeing across the hall into Mikey’s room, and slipping into his bed; ready to protect him from any creature that dared take advantage of the dark.

He’d take the first blow, any day, for his little brother.

Ray was more coherently frightened now, than he’d ever been in his life. His stomach was clenched in fear, and his blood ran cold with guilt. He had broken every rule he’d ever been aware of concerning Mikey. He’d left him to die. He’d forgotten him. And he’d taken Gerard away from him.

He’d only once seen Gerard like this before. A long time ago, back when they’d all been into fucking around with drugs more than anyone should, when they’d first started out as a band.

Sometimes Gerard hadn’t been human.

Ray remembered him as fried out of his mind by night, wired and lank by day. Mikey had been on a lot, but it was mostly just the party pills and alcohol. Gerard – he’d been into so much shit at a time - Ray couldn’t even count all the drugs Gerard was on when the doctors would ask him at the hospital. He’d list what he could remember seeing Gerard doing, and even then the nurse’s faces would distort in horror. And to think he could only think of a few of the substances. It had been such a sick time for everyone.

When Mikey had gone in for passing out from dehydration and exhaustion after a night out at one of the scummy clubs, Ray had forgotten to call Matt’s studio apartment - where the Way brothers were crashing - to inform Gerard. He knew all the medical details for Mikey’s forms and Gerard was more than likely too busy drowning in a bottle of beer to do any good at the hospital.

He’d dragged his feet heading back to the studio apartment a day later, Mikey leaning heavily on his shoulder, and Gerard had hurled opened the door at the first knock, seizing Mikey out of his grasp and taking a tight grip on Ray’s hair. He pulled him in close, tearing out tendrils, and breathing heavily. The rank stench of stale beer blew hot into Ray’s face, making his eyes water.

“You’re gonna keep the fuck away from my brother.”

He’d hissed it, eyes bloodshot and out of kilter, then he’d pushed him out the door, and Ray had tumbled down a couple of steps before he caught hold of the rusted banister. The door was slammed shut so hard that the wood around the doorknob splintered.

Ray had retired to another friend’s house, but tossed and turned for two nights on their sofa before he dared go back. Gerard hadn’t seemed like Gerard. He’d been out of his mind, he probably hadn’t even recognized Ray for who he was. And Mikey wasn’t well, and he was up there - locked in with Mr. Gerard Fucked-in-the-head Way.

Ray had marched up to the apartment – quietly and alone. He was still a little cowed by Gerard’s words. Frank was the friend whom he’d borrowed the couch from. He didn’t want to mess with Gerard from what Ray had told him about the way he’d acted, and Matt was out of town, trying to get his hands on one of his dream cars, Ray supposed.

So it was up to Ray to confront Gerard. To check up on Mikey. And to sort the whole weird mess out.

It was windy, and Ray had to stop on the stairs to sort out his hair. Or maybe just to gather his wits. When he reached the last landing, he wasn’t surprised to find the door was still firmly locked when he jiggled the lopsided knob. He knocked cautiously, but he was relieved that Mikey was the one to crack open the door. Mikey looked perfectly fine until he let Ray in. Then Ray took note of the bits of paper in his mussed hair and that the apartment was cold, almost colder than outside.

The place was in ruins. It looked as if a snowstorm of paper had hit it, followed by a hurricane.

Mikey looked around, cheeks pinkening with embarrassment, or perhaps from the chilly draft that wafted through the place, and whispered, “Gerard was really worried when I went missing. So he kind of fucked up the place.”

Ray nodded, eyes taking in a broken window at the end of the room. Matt was going to be pissed if he came back to this. It was his place, after all.

Mikey ruffled the confetti out of his hair. “He ripped up all his lyric sheets. He’s sleeping now, in the bathroom. Could you help me fix some of the stuff up?”

Ray nodded slowly, feeling old and tired.

Together, they swept most of the paper into plastic grocery bags and Ray duct-taped a newspaper over the broken window.

Gerard didn’t wake up for a good fifteen hours, and when he did stumble out of the bathroom, eyes clearer than the last time Ray had stared into them, he just looked at Ray, bewildered. Confused as to why his guitarist friend was here, watching cartoons on the tiny television, Mikey sleeping soundly sprawled across his lap.

He waved absently at Ray, went into the kitchen to grab a beer, and then disappeared into a bedroom.

He never apologized. It was doubtful he remembered anything about the experience.

Mikey never mentioned it again.

And Ray? Ray only remembered when he was scared. He only remembered to remind himself of what true fear was.

The monster within a loved one.  


\---

  
Mikey crawled, he crawled like the devil was after him, because there was a crashing and a crunching in the bracken and though he’d stopped earlier to spit on his palms and cock an ear to the sounds of the forest, the noises that came to his ears were assuredly not the footfalls of rescuers. What it was, he didn’t even want to know.

His overactive imagination conjured shadows and talons paces behind him, and he’d fixed his limbs to the ground, screaming in his head that it was nothing. To carry on, carry on, fix your mind on the monotony of one palm after the other, beware the scrub to the left, take heed of the fallen branch that Ray left behind him.  
Thank god for panicky flight paths – at least the way back was clear.

He was moving slowly on the ground. At least ten times slower than Ray had dragged him, and Ray had dragged him for a good twenty minutes before his sweaty hand had slipped away. Mikey dared a glance at his watch. The display glowed faintly in the dark, illumination spooky rather than comforting. It was three thirty in the morning. Mikey wildly estimated the plane to be reachable by half past four. He really had no clue – it was just a goal. Keep moving for an hour, Mikey. Stay awake wading through this muddy forest floor, and you will prevail, Mikey.

It was four fifteen, and the trees above were just as dense when Mikey let himself start to cry. He would have curled up for a good pity fest, but something told him that would be even more unbelievably pathetic - as well as dramatically increase his chances of drifting off and waking up frozen to death. He sobbed and coughed and dragged onwards, jarring his ankle over more of Ray’s detritus, and then there were hands on him. There were warm hands that grasped his shoulders and lifted his hands out of the mud. He was so sure, just so sure that he’d finally died, and that the stupid stupid ordeal of living was over when he was lifted up, and somebody squeezed the life out of him.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, it’s Mikey. Bob – it’s fucking Mikey!”

\---

  
“G-G-Gerard!”

Ray stumbled over a log, and hopped on one foot until he finally caught up with him.

“Gerard, man, I’m…sorry. J-just wait up a second. We’ve been running for an hour. You don’t even know which way to go.”

Gerard’s jaw tensed up, and he snarled at Ray, “And I’m supposed to let you tell me what to do? After what you’ve done?”

Ray’s face instantly crumpled, and he turned away from Gerard and fell behind a few steps.

“I remember passing that stump with it on my left.” He said quietly, pointing it out.

Gerard merely frowned at it and loped onwards, passing the stump with it on his right this time. Eyes to the ground, ears to the breeze, he ran faster than Ray could keep level with. So Ray trailed behind with his tail between his legs, occasionally catching a faint whiff of the copper gash that matted Gerard’s scalp.

“Voices!” he heard Gerard hiss from up ahead, and though he couldn’t hear them, he trusted the predator in Gerard to be able to find his own blood, no matter what. If Gerard could hear voices, then they were there. Not that Ray would ever dare to cross this maddened incarnation of Gerard.

\---

  
Frank hauled Mikey to his feet, lifting him out of the mud with a horrible sucking sound. Mikey was taller, but Frank was strong. He pulled Mikey’s filth encrusted hands around his neck, and picked the kid up, bridal style. Bob tossed down the club-like branch he’d been using to bludgeon away stray branches along the way.

“Over here.” He said, hurriedly zipping off his hoodie and laying it on their makeshift bracken sofa. It was big enough to serve as a blanket for Mikey, skinny bitch that he was.

“He’s freezing, Bob. And covered with mud. What the hell happened to you, Mikes? Here, Bob, help me get his hoodie off.”

Together they wrestled Mikey’s hoodie off of him. It was so mud soaked that it make a splotting sound when Bob tossed it over a nearby branch. His t-shirt, was thin and damp, so they pulled that away too, but let him keep his jeans, despite the torn open knees and soaked cuffs. Mikey was next to useless the whole time. His fingers were frozen to the bone and stiff with mud. Frank tried to chafe the mud off of his palms once he was zipped into Bob’s warm hoodie, but Mikey yelped and put them under his armpits. The skin was near flayed from his hands by the grit and razor sharp twigs of the forest. The yelp echoed, and Frank let him alone, instead sitting close on his left. Bob took the right, and Mikey eventually wriggled out of his jeans and curled his legs up inside the hoodie, warmed by his two friends.

Frank wrapped an arm around Mikey’s thin back and looked over him at Bob.

“And now there are three,” he said, smiling weakly at the drummer.

Bob grimaced back and folded his arms over his chest, shifting closer to Mikey. “Is he sleeping?” he asked.

“No.” Frank said, face falling. “He’s still crying.”

Mikey’s shoulders shuddered in agreement.

“I don’t think he’s listening to us, though. He’s seriously freaked out. I think he was by himself out there for a long time.”

Mikey sucked in a quavering breath and then let it out tangled up with a mournful sobbing moan, just loud enough in the quiet air to echo in the distance.

“Jesus.” Bob muttered under his breath.

Frank sat up a little. “He echoed…” he said, thinking. “He echoed – we must be in some kind of valley to get an echo, right?”

Bob shrugged a ‘suppose so’ movement of concurrence.

“So,” continued Frank, words slightly muffled by his fingers touching at his split open lip, “so, valleys are vee-shaped and have rivers in the bottom of them. And rivers always lead to civilization.”

“Seriously?” said Bob, curious at the mention of civilization.

“Seriously. I read loads of survival books when I was a kid. It always works.” Frank nodded confidently, patting Mikey on the side his arm was curled around.

“So what will we do when it’s light?” Bob asked, exhausted, merely asking for the sake of talking. Planning just to have the illusion of a plan to follow.

“Find Gerard and Ray and then we’ll have to head downhill until we hit water. And then we can follow it to some little town with a phone connection. And then, we’ll be in San Francisco before you can blink.”

“That sounds smart…what time is it…?”

Frank borrowed Mikey’s wrist with careful fingers, and checked the display, “it’s almost five, dude. Sun’s up soon.”

He gently put Mikey’s hand back under his arm. Bob settled deeper into the bracken, where he started to doze off nervously.

There was quiet for a while, apart from Mikey’s irrepressible gasping sobs and the slow waking of a number of birds in the surrounding trees.

Frank couldn’t sleep. Eventually he undid the strap of Mikey’s watch and strapped it around his own wrist, simply so he wouldn’t have to keep touching Mikey’s poor shredded hands. The alarm went off as the digits flashed six oh five, an immense black clad figure burst through the verge of the clearing before them, and Mikey sat up with a start, bloodshot eyes staring.

“Gerard,” Mikey whispered, barely able to believe it.

Gerard swept his hair back from his face, baring grazes and gashes splattered with mud. He had eyes for nobody but Mikey, and he immediately swept over to pull him into his arms without a word.

Frank grinned at them momentarily, until his eye was caught by another figure sidling into the clearing. It was Ray, battered and dirty, but otherwise no worse for wear. And no longer crazy, Frank noted.

Although it seemed that Gerard had taken over that role with ease, judging from the way he was clutching at his younger brother, murmuring what sounded dreadfully like the lyrics to Honey…. Frank had to remember sometimes, that he didn’t really know Gerard entirely. The things Ray had told him once, a long, long time ago, rose up from the depths of his memory and weighed heavy on his mind.

It was just his luck, ending up babysitting four madmen in a forest.

Ray slunk over, and fell to his knees as close as he could get to Mikey whilst remaining just out of Gerard’s reach.

“Oh, thank god, Mikey,” he murmured, closing his eyes in relief. He buried a bloodied hand in his hair, and sucked in a calming breath.

Frank stood up from his seat in the bracken. He laid a comforting hand on Gerard’s back as he rose, for once towering over Ray.

“Care to explain this bullshit?” Frank enquired, coolly.

Ray’s eyes opened, and he met Frank’s stare reluctantly. “I’m sorry…I don’t know what happened to me – it was just – I was just – I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mikey.” He appealed to the hunched figure buried in Gerard’s shirt.

Frank’s eyes narrowed and he spat a mouthful of pink tainted saliva onto the dewy grass beside him. He gave his split lip a moistening lick, and Ray saw the glint of beading blood grow - and suddenly he was sprawled on his back, nursing his own broken lip. He lifted his shoulders out of the damp undergrowth and watched as his blood spilled in tandem with Frank’s. Frank sucked his lip into his mouth, washing away the trail but leaving a red stain tracked down his lip.

Bob would ordinarily have leapt into this kind of debacle, held the two factions apart with solid pacifist fists. But he sat there in the bracken pile, silent and still, merely looking on with sad glazed eyes.

He thought they were friends - Bob and Ray: lost in the background together. Gerard and Frank handled the frontmanship, Mikey tried to hide, to no avail, in the mid stage, and Ray and Bob held up the staple guitar and drums, keeping everyone dancing without them even knowing it.

However, this wasn’t the stage. This was the wild.

Ray had broken Gerard’s one rule. He’d messed with Mikey. Gerard didn’t give a fuck whether you did drugs, got wasted, slept around, got into fights in your spare time, but he did give a fuck about his little brother. And a great deal of the time, the path Gerard took was then immediately followed by the rest of his gang – leaving the outsider behind. It had happened to Matt (although almost certainly, that had nothing to do with Mikey), and now, it seemed, Ray would be abandoned in turn.

Ray picked himself up, shoulders resigned to slumping. He approached Mikey once more, edging past Frank’s stoic stance, praying Gerard wouldn’t simply take a swing at him.

“Mikey,” he said, voice breaking in the middle of the name, “I’m so sorry, Mikey.”

And with that he slipped back to the outskirts of the clearing to settle at the base of a sapling tree. He put his face in his hands there, praying that at some point they’d forgive him. If they were back home they’d already have forgiven him – but would they have? Ray couldn’t be sure. But he chose to believe in the law of the wild first and foremost. Obey your betters, or be ostracized.

\---

  
Frank relaxed slowly, and settled down to lean against the bundle of GerardandMikey. His mouth was bleeding again, dripping down his front. He undid his tie and pressed it against the wound. It was hardly absorbent, but it seemed to staunch the flow a little.

It was a while before Mikey lifted his head from the sanctuary of Gerard’s shirtfront. The sun was well and truly up, and it filtered down through the treetops warming them, but not enough to be truly content.

Mikey stared blearily at Frank, who was curled against Gerard, whose body was, in turn, covering ninety percent of Mikey’s form. He had to blink, and squint, and struggle a little against Gerard’s firm grip to focus on Frank’s face.

“Your lip is bleeding?” Mikey said, squinting a little more with the eye closest to Frank.

“Yeah. I think something clipped it back in the plane,” Frank dabbed it and winced, “tore it clean out.”

Mikey made a sympathetic noise. “I lost my glasses in the plane, too.”

He felt Gerard clutch tighter at his arms in pity, awake after all.

Gerard sat back from Mikey. Still clutching at his arms, he looked him over once more, eyes noticeably bloodshot and intense. Mikey fought back a shiver, and stayed pliant in Gerard’s hands.

“What happened up there?” Gerard asked Frank, with his eyes still set on Mikey. “I remember feeling…something, and then everything began to move.”

Frankie made a noise of agreement, “the whole plane just started jolting around. I mean, we’ve had turbulence, but this shit was vicious. You smacked against the window, and all these kids in the other aisle flew right out of their seats-”

“I saw the ceiling peel open.” Mikey said, quietly interrupting.

Gerard’s eyes snapped back.

“The whole plane peeled open like a can behind us, and we started dropping – I could feel us dropping in my stomach. I couldn’t hear the engines any more – they weren’t there anymore, and neither was the rest of the plane. And when we hit the ground – there was so much screaming before - and then suddenly everyone was quiet.”

Frank nodded at Mikey, “Yeah, we don’t have any engines on our piece of plane. Good thing too. I don’t know jack about mechanical stuff, but the further we are from possibly exploding things, the better. Hey – Mikes, you don’t think there might have been other survivors? You were awake the whole time, did you see anyone else make it?”

Ray coughed from the edge of the clearing, “Sorry. I don’t think there were any. When I got – when I got Mikey and Gerard out,” Gerard turned to glare at him momentarily, “I looked around. Everyone else looked seriously dead.”

“Yes.” Bob quietly interjected his opinion. He blinked back flashes of that mother and her boys. Ray smiled at Bob, grateful for the concession.

“I think we should go back.”

Bob whipped around to look at Frank, face twisted in distress, “No!” he said, flat out.

Mikey turned a little green, but Gerard didn’t seem to react at all. “Why?” He asked.

Frank shrugged. “To look for survivors, and we’re more likely to be found near the crashsite. San Francisco must have realized that they’re short a plane by now, not to mention our recording reps and techies.”

Gerard nodded slowly, stroking absently at Mikey’s hair, picking out sticks and bits of leaf and bark.

“And,” Ray called out from his tree, “there will be food in the plane! You’re hungry, aren’t you, Mikey?” he chanced.

Gerard’s red eyes narrowed, but Mikey absently nodded against his shoulder, tired from crying and running and fear. Gerard sighed heavily and conceded.

“Fine, but I’m going in, and you’re coming with me, Ray.” He grinned in a feral manner. “The rest of you can wait outside, but we’re all moving now.”

Bob nodded and stood up, his knees and neck clicking. He pulled Frank out of his seat as well and Gerard gave Mikey a hand. His hoodie was filthy beyond belief, and the t-shirt was still damp, so Bob merely laid them over his shoulder for later and told him to leave the oversized hoodie on. Frank had said they’d find a river at some point, after all.

They all moved off, following the well trampled path back towards the plane. It got progressively lighter as they walked closer to the wreck. Their plane’s trajectory seemed to have scythed away the tops of the trees, and they ended up following a fairly clear, well lit trail a good thirty feet wide. Ray trailed behind, kicking at the dew on the forest floor in his frustration.

Mikey couldn’t see anything but blurs of green and brown and black, so he kept his eyes on the unmistakable, solid form of Gerard, and despite the stinging of his torn skin, he squeezed at his hand tightly so he wouldn’t lose him again.

Gerard felt another pang of sadness for Mikey, and a wave of fury at Ray. The bastard had abandoned his baby brother in the middle of the woods, in the dead of night, all alone, practically blind, after he’d crawled out of an air wreck in which he’d witnessed countless people die. All in one night, Gerard’s three fears had managed to make appearances.

They approached the hulking carcass of the plane’s wreckage. The metal of the nose was crinkled as if disgusted by the situation it had gotten itself into, and the formerly streamlined sides were chipped, dented and peeled outwards like some sort of unruly pasta dish.

A ragdoll corpse drooped limply over the edge of a gouge in the fuselage. Bob stiffened and walked to the treeline to throw up. Frankie turned his face, and Ray took on a grim expression similar to Gerard’s. Mikey couldn’t see well enough to pick out the intricacies of the horrendous view and Gerard was glad of it.  
They stood in silence a little while, as the sunlight grew stronger and the wind blew through the trees. There was the occasional creak from the wreckage settling into the dirt. There were no human sounds emitting from the wreckage, and despite being the only link to human civilization in the area it felt more frightening and desolate than the deepest reaches of the forest they had explored in the dark.

Gerard finally put Mikey’s hand into Frank’s grasp, and stepped towards the plane. Bob finished up kicking the undergrowth over his vomit, and he and the other two not venturing within moved a short distance away to sit on fallen branches knocked asunder by the plane’s skimming path.

Ray and Gerard approached the plane, and stepped through a gaping exit door. Gerard paled and gripped the door frame as Ray attempted to pretend that the rows of corpses extending down into the jagged jaws where the plane was ripped apart are not real people. Gerard closed his eyes momentarily and gathered purpose. Food. Food for Mikey and the guys, and anything else that could prove useful.

“Alright,” said Gerard, at first seemingly to himself, “alright. Ray, check for survivors. Also anything we should take. Knives, matches, blankets, whatever.”

He stumbled over the warped floor towards the kitchen compartment. A hostess was crumpled over the coffee machine. Gerard turned away, and instead rummaged through the cupboards and drawers. He found a lot of still semi-frozen chicken drumsticks, and a box of peanuts. There was a box of candy bars and another of barley sugars tucked under a counter. He tipped the lot of it into a single box, wrapping the chicken in clean looking plastic packaging from the trash receptacle, and cradled the whole package in the crook of one arm.

Ray, meanwhile, scanned his eyes over the rows of people. He felt as if he was inside some sort of grotesque museum of disaster-stricken wax mannequins. He couldn’t quite bring himself to touch them for pulses, but nothing (no-one?) moved an inch or breathed a square inch. Progressing down the aisle, he moved closer to the toothed mouth that opened to the forest. If he peered around the jagged teeth he could see Mikey sat on the ground between Frank and Bob, just about in Frank’s lap, even. Frank was scrubbing at Mikey’s face with the end of his filthy spit dampened tie, and Ray had to swallow a rising bubble of jealously.

Turning, he tripped on the wheel of an overturned snack trolley. The contents scattered the floor. Ray kneeled and gathered the little juice boxes and cans of warm soda. The crackers and biscuits had not traveled far, but Ray had to reach under a couple of aisle seats to retrieve the odd piece of fruit. It was in pursuit of an apricot that he spotted the familiar glint. The plane creaked ominously as he moved closer, and Ray told himself nervously that dead men could not hurt him. He crawled onward into the row cautiously, and reached under the bent over old man guarding the treasure.

Gerard was slamming doors at the front of the cabin. He had discovered liquid soap and damp towelettes in the bathrooms, and an extensive first aid kit back in the kitchen. His hair was stiff from blood and he was sure that everyone would appreciate the chance to feel a little cleaner. Adding all these to his initial box he paused in front of the front most grey metal door. It was the door to the cockpit. It was either locked or jammed when Gerard pulled at it, so he shrugged and moved back towards the exit door.

There was a shout from the cabin – Ray’s shout, and Gerard quickened his steps. He located Ray quickly at the end of an aisle, legs thrashing in the air.

Ray struggled to breathe; the struts holding up the flooring under the row had given way under Ray’s weight added onto the battering it had received on impact. Ray was half trapped in the dipping floor beneath the weight of the airline seats and the corpses that occupied them. He’d only just managed to grab the iPod he’d spotted under the seats, but he hoped Gerard wouldn’t leave him to die before he managed to hand it over to him to give to Mikey.

Gerard walked down the aisle slowly, boots thumping on the carpeting, but he lifted the end of the aisle out of the dip, and held it until Ray had scrambled out of the deathtrap.

“Thanks, Gerard,” Ray said, clutching at his ribs thankfully. He wondered if he’d managed to fracture any. It felt possible, but he brushed the concern aside, remembering the huge crusted stain that marred Gerard’s usually glossy hair. They’d all sustained injuries. A broken rib couldn’t kill him, not in the way being legally blind in the woods could. Hit once again by guilt, Ray sat up. Gerard was crouched near him, watching with a deceptively blank expression.

“Look, Gerard,” Ray started, “you have no idea how guilty I feel about…leaving Mikey.”

Gerard’s lip curled. “Hopefully worse than I feel when I think about my baby brother being abandoned, blind in the woods by his so-called best friend.” Gerard snapped.

Ray squeezed his eyes shut and offered up what he’d recovered from under the seat. “It’s for Mikey,” he said, “give it to him. From you.”

Gerard stared. But he took the iPod without a word and tucked it inside his jacket before getting up and wandering back into the kitchen. He came back seconds later, carrying two large boxes, one filled to the brim with his miscellanea, and the other empty. Gerard set this one down in front of Ray before leaving the wreck.

Ray grinned to himself and started packed up the contents of his snack trolley. Gerard mightn’t have forgiven him yet, but this was definitely a step on the road to redemption.  


  
\---

  


  
**FIN BECAUSE IT IS PROBABLY NEVER TO BE CONTINUED**   



	2. Extras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Further scenes I never had the chance to complete.

“For god’s sake, Gerard, I lived with the kid. Whenever he got some idiot idea in his head about poking around in the toaster or bringing heaters into the bathroom, I was there to save his ass. I’ve got _experience_ ” Frank bullied. “Ray, well, just look at his track record. Abandoned poor Mikes in the woods. He could have fucking died out there. You can’t trust him to look out for the kid.”

Gerard poked at the fire with a long stick. “Why are you bringing this up?”

“Because,” Frank pounded his fist into the dirt ground, “he clearly wants to get to know your little brother in the biblical sense, he always has, and he’s not good enough for Mikey. Surely you agree with me on that front, Gee.”

“Sure,” agreed Gerard, feeling ridiculously like a parent negotiating marriage contracts, “but I don’t think anyone is good enough for Mikey, and to be blunt, I don’t think you have the purest intentions.”

The two of them stared at Mikey’s sleeping form for a moment. Gerard watching proprietarily, and Frank grasping for a way to jump back into the negotiations.

“So it is to be a fair fight, then?” Frank said, sucking at his wound.

Gerard answered tersely, “There is nothing to fight over, Frank.”

“Mmhm.”

///

Ray woke Mikey the next morning, running his fingers over his cheeks. Luckily Gerard hadn’t managed to pull Mikey close during the night, and Ray could wake one Way without risking the wrath of the other.

“Hey.” Said Ray, smiling down at Mikey’s sleepy eyes.

“Ray?” guessed Mikey. It was surprising how much a blurry hair silhouette could tell you about the identity of an individual.

///

  
Mikey couldn’t find an explanation for the change that had overcome Ray and Frankie. They’d stopped incessantly hitting on him, and were actually standing within two feet of one another without death threats cropping up. The two of them were gutting fish and handing the fillets to Bob, who seemed to have mastered the art of using twigs as tongs over their modest fire.

“Weird.” Mikey murmured, rubbing his eyes.

Gerard stirred next to him, “Hn?”

“Nothing.”

Mikey rested his head on Gerard’s shoulder and closed his eyes. The constant squinting was giving him migraine, and their bathing had tired him rather than refreshed him. It had to be about one in the afternoon, but the forest canopy hid them from the sun, and Mikey’s body clock had been out of whack since the crash.

The whiff of burning fish caught his attention, but Gerard was warm, and food could wait.


End file.
